


Parallax

by AllyUnabridged



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, X-Men: Days of Future Past Fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyUnabridged/pseuds/AllyUnabridged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue’s capture catapults the Professor’s plan to send someone back in time to change the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like many Rogue fans, I was disappointed in the lack of the character in the theatrical release of the movie "X-Men: Days of Future Past". This story is inspired by the few clips we did get of her during the trailers. I wanted to see how she could be integrated into the story. I've done my best to make it as seamless as possible while adding the necessary elements that her interactions would have provided.
> 
> Disclaimer: Fox/Marvel own the characters. I'm just giving them a bit more face time. While I'd love if I made money from this, sadly I do not.

When I first came here, I would pace back and forth around my tiny cell. Three steps from my thin pallet to the hole in the floor that is my toilet. Turn right and two steps brings me to the rusty sink that spits out metallic-tasting water. Three more steps, and I reach the barred door. Turn right, four steps, turn right a final time, and in four steps I reach my pallet once more. Back then hope of a quick rescue fueled my restless energy . When my captors pushed a tray of bland rations through the slot at the bottom of my door I would jump for it, aware that I needed to keep up my strength. I drank from the trickle of water my sink provided and plotted what I would do to the first person to get within in easy reach of my skin. When I wasn’t plotting my escape or hoping for rescue, I berated myself for the stupidity of allowing my capture.

I thought I was a goner at that point, when the Sentinels had my small hiding place surrounded. Then from behind I heard a hiss followed by a sharp pain in my neck. When I woke up in my cell, I knew that I had been hit with a tranquilizer. I began pacing right away, the voices in my head uncomfortable in the claustrophobic cell.  
I ate twenty meals and slept four times before they rushed into my cell wearing black hazmat suits. I had no opportunity to absorb one of them, and although I fought as best I could, as I had been taught for years, they overwhelmed me, strapped me to a gurney brought in by a final figure and shot me up with something that burned through my veins. I lost consciousness shortly after as they wheeled me through a dimly-lit hall.

When I woke up I was lying on my pallet once more, curled up on one side. A dozen new voices crowded into my skull, overwhelming me. My throat felt raw, my lips cracked as if I had bitten off all the skin. I tried to suppress the voices, the memories, just as Professor Xavier taught me. There were so many that after a few tries I passed out from the effort. Once I regained consciousness, I began again. Three meals appeared under my door before I managed to find enough peace in my own head to pace again.

My time passed like that. I ate, I slept, they came, I fought, and I woke up with still more voices in my head pressing out what should be “me”. Eventually I ate less, the pain and exhaustion from subduing the new voices and personalities too much strain for my body to handle. The struggle to overcome the voices became longer even as the number added became fewer with each trip. At first I wondered why they were doing this.

“Why” doesn’t matter to me anymore. I just want them to end this torment. When I woke up moments ago, there was only one new voice. However, its strength tells me something new. They have used me to kill. I have become their executioner. 

Food is pushed through the usual slot moments after I open my eyes, but I can only lie on my pallet, tears pouring down my cheeks as she screams in my mind. I no longer feel the urge to pace. My hope has fled, destroyed by their callous disregard of the effect my mutation would have on me. 

I hear shouts outside my door. This happens every once in a while, when they bring in someone new. The sound is mostly drowned out while the new voice rants at me. Her name is Carol, and she sure is pissed. It’s starting to get to me. I’m becoming just as angry. For her, for me, for this whole crappy situation where someone thinks they have the right to do this to us.

The outside shouts are getting louder. I feel I should recognize them, but right now all I can do is squeeze my eyes shut against my own inner turmoil. The voices outside disappear once more under the waves of pain buffeting my mind.

I am only distantly aware of my door opening. It must be time again, or maybe they’re here to kill me at last. I haven’t even had a chance to eat my meal, but perhaps that’s for the best. I leave my eyes closed, praying they are finally here to kill me. Carol whispers that I deserve death since it’s all I can mete out. I keep my breathing even, shallow, as I fight against the pain and find enough hope left inside to wonder if it will be quick, maybe another needle prick and then oblivion.

“Get up, kid.” The voice is gruff. At first I think it’s only in my head, the small remnant of him I’ve never been able to force myself to let go of urging me not to accept death without a fight. Then I realize I heard him with my ears, too. It is the first voice to actually speak to me in so long that I am able to crack my eyes open slightly.

“Can’t,” I croak out, somehow managing to force the word past my cracked, dry lips. “Hurts.” I hate how weak I sound, and around him no less. It has been years since I have allowed him to see me as weak.

“I know, kid, but we gotta get out of here quick before they send in the Sentinels. We were lucky the ones stationed here were off on some kind of raid when we arrived.” His voice is grim, the way it always is these days, but his mention of the Sentinels causes my hand to shoot out almost of its own accord. His gloved hand grabs mine, and he hauls me to my feet. I stagger against him as pain blinds me for a moment. To my surprise, he crashes hard into the wall beside my door. I stare at him in horror, but he shakes it off with a growl, grabs my arm, and drags me behind him out the door.

“New passenger, darlin’?”

“You could say that,” I pant out as I try to keep up with him on trembling legs.

Up ahead I see bodies in white lab coats or black armor, all covered in rows of bright red along every visible surface. I can’t tell if they are alive or dead, and I don’t care. We turn a corner, and to my relief Professor Xavier and Magneto are waiting for us. Tears gather in my eyes as Charles slides an arm around my waist. We travel even faster down the next hallway as Magneto moves bodies away from us by the bits of metal they still wear. I can feel my rescuers’ urgency increasing even as our pace follows suit, and then we are standing in front of a gaping hole in a wall that must be ten stories above the ground.

Logan wraps his arms around me, and I tuck my head under his chin to minimize the chance of skin-to-skin contact. We are airborne less than a second later, headed towards the Blackbird hovering just above us. This is familiar to me after the last few years of running and fighting. Magneto and the Professor follow us into the open sky, the latter thanks to the jetpack he wears. The welcome, battered outline of the jet draws nearer, and we sail into the open hatch that snaps shut behind us.

I don’t let myself feel hope that we will make it until I plant my feet on the deck of the aircraft. Logan sets me in a seat and helps me buckle the harness when my hands shake too much to do it myself. I stare up at him, then at the Professor, Magneto, and finally Storm in the pilot seat. I can feel the shock of the situation setting in and close my eyes. 

Carol takes the opportunity to begin screaming in my mind again, upsetting my delicate mental state even further.  
A hand rests on my hair, and then Carol and I are no longer along in my mind. The Professor’s voice echoes between the two of us. 

“Enough!” His command is strong enough to quiet even Carol, let along the chorus egging her on from inside my head. “My dear, you must cease your quest for vengeance against Rogue. It is not her fault that your captors used her mutation against you, damaging her as well. Instead, you should focus your energy on defeating your mutual enemy so that Rogue may also. Together, you have the strength to quiet the other voices in her mind and allow her to concentrate on the task at hand.”

Carol whimpers but remains blessedly quiet. Behind my closed eyes I can see her cowering form, straggly blond hair and bloodshot green eyes staring up at me. I imagine myself holding out my hand to her. 

“Please,” I plead, not entirely sure what I am asking. When Carol’s fingers brush mine once, twice, before latching on, I feel as if I can finally breathe again. Carol’s presence fades to the back of my mind, a controllable seething darkness that swallows all the other voices begging for attention.

I open my eyes once more and meet the Professor’s compassionate gaze as he removes his hand from my head. “Thank you.” My words are raspy but free of the constant pain I have lived with for what seems like ages.

“You are very welcome. We are extremely relieved to have you back with us.” He squeezes my hand with his own, a careful press of fingers that nonetheless warms me. “Now, let’s see about getting you some food. It looks as if they were barely keeping you alive.”

Logan doesn’t need the look the Professor shoots him to propel himself forward. He holds out a small flask. “It’s a protein shake. I don’t know how much your stomach is up to.”

“I’ve been hungry enough to eat a horse for…days? Weeks?” 

I distract myself from my lack of awareness about my situation by raising the flask to my lips with shaking hands. A quick gulp reveals that the shake is supposed to be chocolate, although it bears little in common with my fading memories of that taste. “They fed me, or tried to. Lately I’ve been in too much pain to move, let alone eat. I think they gave me an IV when they were experimenting, until this last time.” The bitterness echoes in my tone.

“The other occupants of the plane are silent. Not even the engines purr in the background since Magneto took control as usual once he was onboard. The only sound that meets my ears are our breathing and my gulps as I finish the shake. Once I hand the flask back to Logan, I manage to meet their eyes once more.

“So, how long did they have me?”

“Two weeks, four days, and seven hours.” As I expected, Logan is the only one willing to answer me. He of all people appreciates what it is like for someone to hold you against your will and experiment on you. 

“Have they managed to integrate my DNA into the Sentinels yet?” We always knew this might happen. The thought of Sentinels able to drain and use other mutants’ powers has haunted us for years. It is the reason the other mutants have been willing to protect me for so long, even those not part of my original “family.”

“We do not believe they have perfected it yet, but there have been prototypes spotted. They were all based out of the facility you were being held in, which is how we found you once we realized you had been captured instead of killed in that last attack.” The Professor sounds apologetic, as if he thinks he could have stopped what happened. I reach over and cover his gloved hand in my own.

“It wasn’t your fault, Charles,” I tell him, using his first name as I rarely do. “They overwhelmed us. I was just glad that they didn’t get the rest of you.” This is the truth. Knowing my closest friends, what is left of my family, had been captured alongside me would have caused a complete loss of hope.

To my surprise, Logan wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me as far forward into a hug as the harness will allow. After a moment of frozen shock I lift my arms to wrap around him in return, once again mindful of my new strength. This feels right, feels wonderful, as his hugs always do even though they are few and far between and have never led to more the way I sometimes wish they would. I’ve always been too much of a coward to try for more, afraid to lose my best friend, and Logan has never given any indication that he wants more.

This hug is different than any he has given me before. His arms cradle me against his chest, as if he’s afraid I will disappear once he lets go. “We thought you were dead,” he whispers into my hair, and then I understand. So many people in Logan’s life have died, especially in the last five to ten years, but few were as close to him as I am. We have developed a deep bond over the years, and the pang of despair I feel at the mere thought of his death is enough to clue me in on how he must be feeling.

“I’m alive, and I’m here with you all again.” I don’t try to lie and tell him everything will be fine. We all know how precarious our future existence is. 

Storm clears her throat, causing Logan to pull away. She throws me an apologetic look. “We need to get somewhere safe. I received word just as the rescue started that a group of former X-Men have found sanctuary in a temple in China. Kitty Pride is with them.”

Kitty. One of my best friends when I was a student, we went our separate ways when she ran off with my boyfriend just after my mutation reappeared. That was also just months before the Sentinels descended to destroy everything we had worked for. They started their own little branch of the X-Men in Asia. More power to them, not that I’m all that bitter anymore. I admitted to myself a long time ago that it was only a matter of time, the way those two acted around each other. 

“What does Kitty have to do with anything?” While our two groups had interacted before, I am not aware of any pressing reasons to go to them besides the need to save our own skins from the Sentinels once more.

Magneto clears his throat and then gives a short chuckle. “Charles believes that Miss Pryde’s emerging abilities in manipulating time as well as space hold the key to going into the past in order to change our future.”

My eyebrows fly up to meet my hairline. This has been the Professor’s pet project for at least a year. I find it a little difficult to believe that the answer lies with my former friend, but I’m willing to go along with whatever the plan is. After all, it isn’t as if I have anything better to do, and getting rid of this clusterfuck of a future can’t be a bad thing.

“We realized that if the Sentinels have access to your DNA, whether you were alive or not, then it is time to investigate my theory further,” the Professor continues for Magneto, obviously eager to explain this latest development. “You may have a piece to play in this as well, Rogue,” he tells me.

I feel Carol stirring at the back of my mind with interest at the thought of taking down this evil present.

I have a bad feeling that my involvement will include touching Kitty to use her power, but I only nod my head. As little as I want to take in Kitty’s psyche, it will be worth it if the Professor’s plan works. I’ll just take this one step at a time, starting with settling back into my seat while the others prepare for the flight to China. 

Logan sits next to me, not a surprise considering the many flights we’ve spent playing card games or just talking about “what ifs”. He cradles my left hand in his right as if he is afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. We don’t speak during the trip, and I manage to slip into a light doze, the first peaceful sleep I’ve had since the experiments began.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake to find my head nestled on Logan’s shoulder. This is a familiar position for us, and he just gives me a small frown when I pull away and begin to unbuckle my harness.

“We’re not gonna crash with Mags here, and I’ve gotta take care of business,” I mumble sleepily to him as I slip past. I feel much more in control of my body after the rest, and I am able to use the small restroom at the back of the jet with a tiny modicum of grace and dignity. Just as I head back towards my seat, we land on solid ground with a soft thump.

“Wow, I didn’t realize we were so close,” I tell Logan quietly.

He shakes his head with a small smile that quickly disappears. “You slept for nine hours, Marie.”

I’m surprised, of course, but I only shrug as I stand aside for the others to precede me out of the plane. A welcoming committee is waiting for us, so obviously the Professor contacted them. Hugs are exchanged by some, but not all, of the members of our two groups. I avoid Bobby and Kitty but carefully hug Blink and Warpath, whom I’ve met a few times before.

We hurry into what looks like an old Buddhist monastery, amazingly intact as little from the previous centuries is anymore. I force myself not to stare. Not at the beautiful mosaics and paintings surrounding me. Not at the two walking ahead of us hand in hand.

Logan must guess where my thoughts are headed. He reaches out to squeeze my shoulder as we all push into a relatively bare rectangular room. I make sure to take a place standing next to Logan but not quite directly across from Kitty or Bobby. I don’t want to accidentally glance up at either of them.

“What brings you here, Professor?” Bobby’s voice is slightly deeper than it used to be, but thankfully I no longer shiver in pleasure upon hearing it.

“Rogue was captured by the Sentinels over two weeks ago,” the Professor says bluntly. All eyes swing towards me. I blush and shrink into Logan, who wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Obviously we were able to rescue her, but they had access to her DNA for far too long. We may not have much longer.”

“Then why did you bring her here?” Kitty shouts, stabbing a finger in my direction. “She’ll lead them straight to us!”

“Rogue is no more a danger than any of us are by our mere presence,” Magneto defends me.

“We weren’t gonna just leave her for the wolves,” Logan growls at the same time.

The Professor raises his voice to be heard over the sudden din of protests for and against my continued existence. “I have a plan, Kitty, and both you and Rogue are imperative for its implementation.”

Kitty recoils with a thinly veiled look of disgust. “Why should I help her?”

The Professor shakes his head. “You won’t be helping her. You will be helping me. And you should do so because now that the Sentinels have her DNA and soon access to the full range of her abilities, our days on this planet are most likely numbered in single digits. We must all work together to adjust our circumstances accordingly.”

“And how are we supposed to ‘adjust our circumstances,’ Professor?” Even while mocking the older man, Bobby uses his old title.

Undiscouraged, the Professor continues as if Bobby never made a sound. “I have determined that it is possible to take a trip back in time to alter events so that the Sentinel program never gains the support it needs. That is where you come in, Kitty.”

“Me?” she squeaks.

“Your abilities have grown and changed over the course of the past decade. Being able to change the recent past is little different from changing long-ago events.” My eyes widen as the Professor continues. “Of course, there is the probability that you will not have enough strength to complete the necessary procedure. That is where Rogue will come in handy.”

“You want her to drain me?”

“You want me to drain her?”

We speak at once, our voices nearly reaching the same octave in our mutual loathing of the idea.

“Not entirely, no. Rogue’s abilities have matured as well, and I believe that she should be able to take enough from you without completely draining you to complete the mission without endangering your life, on the off chance that the changes to the past do not trigger the changes to the future that I believe they will.”

My head spins trying to follow Professor Xavier’s line of thinking. Somehow Kitty is going to go back into the past, and I’m supposed to be her back up? I left captivity less than a day ago. How does he expect me to have any more strength than Kitty? Suddenly it becomes clear.

“You want me to drain Logan first.” It comes out flat, and I move to stand closer to Logan even as I reject the idea of hurting him like that once again.

Xavier frowns at me. “You have borrowed Logan’s strength before. I do not think a full dose will be necessary. You should be able to take what is needed without incapacitating him, which is a good thing since Logan’s regenerative abilities are the final key to this plan.”

“Wait a minute, bub. What do I have to do with this?” Under any other circumstances I would grin at Logan’s tone just now, but I’m too busy fighting off a panic attack at the thought of being forced to use my powers against other mutants again, good cause or not.

“Kitty needs to send one of us back in time to 1973, which is when the events we need to prevent occurred. The level of effort to keep our consciousness in our previous body would be lethal to either myself or Erik, leaving only you, Logan, as an option since none of the others were alive or old enough to perform the necessary mission. I believe that you are ideally suited for this. Your body will heal itself despite the stressors that the procedure will place on it.”

He sounds reasonable for a madman. I wonder if we are going to be able to find a straightjacket somewhere around here. They aren’t in high demand anymore. No one really lives long enough to go that crazy, or if they do they’re already in the custody of the Sentinels anyway.

Apparently craziness is catching. Beside me, Logan nods slowly. I stare back and forth between the two, but especially Logan. How can he even be considering this?

“Are you insane?” The words leave my mouth in a hiss, and I only realize that I spoke out loud when all eyes turn back to me.

Logan gives me a sideways hug and then turns me so that I’m facing him directly. Hands on my shoulders, he gives me a look that pleads for understanding. “This is what we’ve been searching for. It may be our one chance to get rid of the Sentinels and change things to how they should have been.”

This is surprisingly eloquent for Logan, and I can see that his words are influencing everyone even more than the Professor’s had. This is it, then. This is truly our last chance, our last stand against a world gone horribly wrong. If Logan is willing to face it, take it head on, how can I do less?

I reach up and press my fingers against Logan’s briefly and then turn, pulling out of his grasp.

“All right. What do we need to do?”

Xavier gives me a slight smile and a nod of thanks for going along with his plan. “I will brief Logan on the necessary historical background. Rogue, you and Kitty will need to rest and eat to store enough energy to succeed—“

“Wait a second? Who said I was going to let her touch me?” Kitty shouts. I glare at her.

“Katherine, what is the longest time you have been able to sustain a temporal field?” The question barely makes sense to me, but apparently the Professor has gotten through to Kitty because her chin trembles and she looks down.

“Nine hours.”

Xavier sighs. “It is very likely that this mission will last days. If the link between Logan’s present mind and his past body is not constantly maintained, it is possible that any changes he makes will not be permanent. I have examined the information you have provided on the way that your mutation has evolved, and everything I have learned tells me that this is the only way. Would you rather be stuck in this timeline, knowing that an alternate version of you is happy but that you will never know for sure?”

Kitty winces, and I almost feel sorry for her. This lecture is all too similar to ones we received as teenagers when we got into trouble with our friends—friends who might still be alive in the new timeline. Suddenly her eyes rise to mine, and I can see that she is thinking it too. Jubilee might be alive in the new timeline. Jubilee, who fell so early to the Sentinels. A new determination enters her eyes, and she snaps out, “Fine.” Then she turns and stalks through an entryway behind her into what I can only assume is another room. Without a backwards glance at us, Bobby follows her. I can’t find it in me to be upset about that, although I let my eyes follow them.

Their departure seems to be a signal to the rest of the group. Ororo mutters a few quick words about arranging for some food, and Blink and Warpath follow in Bobby’s footsteps. Erik and Xavier step to one side, quietly discussing their plan.

Logan’s hand lands on my shoulder once more, a comfortingly familiar presence. I turn back to look at him.

“If you’re going to be helping with this crazy plan, you need to let me help you first,” he offers gruffly.

I shouldn’t, but part of me wants one last remnant of him in case…I won’t even think it. Instead, I strip off my glove and let my bare hand hover near his face. He smiles at me gently, trusting that I will take only what is needed and let go quickly enough that he will heal in time to play his part in this bizarre scheme.

I brush my fingers along his cheek, smoothing the hair on his jaw for a moment before moving on to the exposed skin over his cheekbone. Seconds after I am able to feel the smooth silk beneath my fingers, his life force, and thus his mutation, drain into me. I only hold on for a count of three, only draw enough to cause him to pale while the veins in his face pulse black and thick. Then I pull away and catch him as he stumbles. His arms wrap around me, and we hold on to each other silently until Ororo returns to offer us both a hoarded apple and packages of jerky.

Logan and I drop unceremoniously to the ground to eat our rations. As I chew a bite of apple, the renewal of his presence in my head brings unexpected feelings. I swivel slightly to my left to find him watching me. He knows.

“When we lost you—when I thought I lost you, it was worse than any other loss I’ve ever known.”

My breath catches in my throat, making it difficult to swallow the food I know I need. This was the man who hated to be vulnerable, who faced physical threats with uncompromising bravery but shied away from emotional pain at the deepest levels. I know him almost as well as I know myself, or I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure. He just allowed me to use my mutation on him, knowing what I would find. Knowing what I would see.

I lean over and thread the fingers not holding food through his. “I’m so happy to be back,” I tell him.

Left unspoken are the thoughts about what this new plan could mean. What will we be like, if he succeeds? Will he still love me? Will I love him? Is the remaking of a world worth losing a love we have both waited for?

The answers are obvious. Of course it is. We have all had to make sacrifices in this existence ruled by Sentinels. Wiping this reality away, creating something better, more permanent, is worth anything. It is worth all of our lives, our sanity, our love. Nothing can flourish in the Hell we now live in, not even a love as strong as I know ours could be.

I scoot across the hard stone floor until our thighs and shoulders are touching. We continue to eat in silence, taking sips of the water Ororo brings us in ancient metal cups, until the food is gone. Then I rest a final time in his arms, his lips pressing into my hair, until the Professor comes to take him away with regretful eyes, saying that he must explain Logan’s task to him.

As the Professor and Logan go off to a far corner of the room to talk, I lean back against the wall behind me and pull my knees up so that I can wrap my arms around them. So much has happened in less than twenty-four hours. I went from prisoner to vital part of a plan to change all of our lives permanently. I think about whether or not I should have refused, but the answer is “no,” of course. I don’t want to miss any of this. I have faith that Logan and I will develop feelings for each other even in the new “future.” I can’t imagine a world where I don’t love him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have only written this much so far because I am waiting to rewatch DoFP in order to get the details of what's happening in the "future" world right. And I'm not doing that until I can get the Rogue cut, which will hopefully be available soon. I just wanted to give you all a notice on that. I'll try to get the next chapter out in the week following the release of the Rogue cut.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long! Getting this correct, from Rogue's perspective, was more difficult than I anticipated. I hope it was worth the wait!

I sit beside Kitty and try to ignore the ache in my heart. Her hands hover to either side of Logan’s head, a strange blue light pulsing between her skin and his. It is almost the only illumination in this dark, gloomy stone room. I don’t speak to her, and she doesn’t say a word to me. Instead, we watch Logan’s still form and wait.

A few yards away, the Professor and Erik are talking in voices too quiet for me to make out. Their conversation seems serious, though, and I wonder if they are rehashing all those long-ago disagreements which have become so pointless in this dangerous world. Will the Professor ever admit that Erik was correct, that humans would attempt to destroy us before they would live in peace with us? The plan we are putting into motion this very moment makes me think that it is the other way around. The Professor must have convinced Erik at some point, perhaps during my imprisonment, that the only way for mutants to survive was if humanity survived peacefully beside them. After all, we have more than enough proof that humans are ingenuous in finding ways to destroy whatever frightens them, given enough cause.

As I stare at the lines of the face I love so well, I relive all the moments when he impacted my life, good and bad. It began in a shadowy bar thousands of miles away, on an entirely different continent than we find ourselves in today. My first sight of him was inspiring and terrifying at the same time. Even then, I knew there was something about him. That idiot fighter was right. No man should be able to take punches like that with so little visible damage. Something inside whispered _mutant_.

I want to touch the familiar planes of his jaw, his cheekbones, but I don’t dare interrupt the process of his insane task. Instead I fiddle with the edge of the too-large leather jacket I wear, trying to keep my fingers busy and away from him. The jacket is his, given to me before he laid down on the cold stone slab that may be his final resting place. He saw me shiver, and yet again he did his best to take care of me. I can still feel the warmth of his skin radiating from the worn lining inside, and I am comforted as best I can be.

Logan has been like this for five hours. Kitty looks strained but not exhausted. I remember one of my few duties and press the plastic straw from a silvery metal water bottle to her lips, inviting her to drink if she needs to. She has to keep a fine balance between staying hydrated enough to keep up her energy and drinking so much that she will need to stop to relieve herself. Neither of us want me to have to replace her for such a trivial matter, so she and I have come to an understanding. She doesn’t try to sip from the straw within a ten second window, so I pull back and place the bottle back on the ground. I will try again in another half hour.

Suddenly Logan convulses. He brings his arms up, claws suddenly extended, and I can only watch as he slashes into Kitty’s stomach. I reach over and grab his arms, pulling them down and using my new strength to keep him still until Erik comes to stand at his feet. Logan’s entire body relaxes then, but his skin still trembles as if he would shake if he could move.

“I’m losing him!” Kitty cries while the Professor moves over to her and begins to bandage her stomach.

“Keep him steady, Kitty! We can’t fail this time, or it will be our death! I can sense the masters of the Sentinels coming, and with them comes our destruction.” The Professor puts a bloody hand on Kitty’s shoulder, lending her the strength of his will.

Logan’s breath evens out as Kitty brings herself under control. I want to yell at her, tell her to pay attention, but I know that’s ridiculous. She’s injured, and she’s doing the best she can. Old grievances aside, Kitty hates this terror-filled world as much as I do. Like the rest of us, she clings to the hope Professor Xavier has given us that this time our efforts will take away all of the pain and death and horror we have experienced in the past seven years.

“So the Sentinels are almost here?” I ask Xavier softly.

“I’m afraid so. We have little time left, although our friends outside will give us as much as they can.” He appears worried as he stares down at Logan. I wonder if he can see what is happening, or if he’s even trying. Is he imagining what his past self is going through right now?

Erik walks up to me and hands me a granola bar, one of the few things we have plenty of. “Meanwhile, we must all keep up our strength. Have something to eat, Rogue.”

I give him a small smile and unwrap the bar. It tastes like sawdust, but I force it down anyway. He’s right. Who knows when my next meal will be, or if I’ll even get to eat again?

Just as I finish my food, the Professor gets a faraway look in his eyes. “They’ve come.”

Erik sighs and stands straight from where he was leaning against one wall. “Well, I’ll do little good in here. Good bye, old friend.” He holds out a hand to Xavier who grasps it warmly.

“Good bye, and good luck. Keep them back long enough for us, Erik.”

“I’ll do my best. We all will.”

“That’s all we can ask,” Xavier tells him, and once again I see the deep bond these two share as they exchange a speaking glance. Erik turns and walks out. The doors to the room slam behind him, and every large metal object nearby rushes to barricade the entrance. Then the metal fuses into one large, thick piece, maybe deeper than I am tall. The Sentinels will have to fight through that to get to us, and although I know they’re more than capable of it, the gesture comforts me, just as Erik no doubt intended.

Minutes later, the room begins to shudder. I glance at the Professor, but he only stares back at me. I am reassured by the calm I see there. He grounds me, as he always does, and we both turn back to Kitty and Logan, locked in her strange powers.

The sounds of the battle, muffled by the rock walls and thick metal door, reach us even as I notice the sweat dripping from Kitty’s forehead. I lean closer to look at her bandage and see that blood has completely soaked through. Her hazel eyes meet my own dark brown, and her mouth quirks up in a tired smile.

“Looks like you’re going to need to take over, Rogue,” she whispers. I realize that’s as loud as she can get right now. With the use of her powers and her injury, her energy is fading fast. Across the room, I hear the Professor’s indrawn breath. He’s aware of the state she’s in, too.

I pull off my gloves with shaking hands. “I’m sorry about this, Kit-kat,” I say, using the old nickname.

“Just make it last, Roguey. Get us back to a real life, not this half-death we’re playing in,” Kitty tells me.

I take a position behind her and reach out my hands to cover hers. Even as I feel the pull working, my mind is examining the new power and adapting to it, using it. I have never felt the draw happen so quickly, but maybe it’s because I’m prepared. I slip seamlessly into the vortex she’s created around Logan, barely noticing when my hands leave Kitty’s and she drops to the ground.

Being less experienced at this, I can’t pay as much attention to what is going on around me as Kitty was able to. I’m sure the battle is ongoing. I can hear the Professor as if from a distance, reporting the wounded, the dying. First Erik, then Storm, then Bishop. My eyes see Erik reappear, presumably with Blink’s help, and stagger to the ground. The Professor is telling me that they are close. Our death is at the door.

At the same time I see the strangest flashes. A stadium, but it looks as if it’s circling the White House of all places! Older versions of Sentinels, similar to the first ones we ever faced almost a decade ago. Logan, his face distorted in pain as something rips into him. What have we sent him into? Then all I can see is water. I can hear the Professor yelling, telling me to keep my hold on Logan. I want to cry, to scream, but I keep the power flowing from my hands to Logan. If I don’t succeed, we all die anyway. Logan has survived so much. Surely his past self will survive this, too.

The Professor suddenly yells that Bobby is dead. I should be sad, or at least upset, angry, something. I loved that man, once upon a time when we were just a boy and a girl. All I can feel is numbness and worry over the man who holds all of our lives, our very future, in his hands. I can no longer see flashes of what must be the past, and I worry that whatever he did isn’t enough.

The sounds are getting louder. The Sentinels are breaking through, or so Xavier says. I try to keep myself from panicking. Logan isn’t finished. It isn’t done! He’s still lying there. We’re still all here. This can’t be the end!

I hear an explosion behind us, and then I hear nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it over? Are they dead? Did the plan work? Who knows? Oh, wait, me...


	4. Chapter 4

My head feels like it’s going to explode. It’s much too early to have a headache, but somehow he manages to give me one all the same. His voice grates on my nerves like a swarm of bees buzzing in a continuous circle around me. Men shouldn’t be able to get that high-pitched. He’s in his mid-twenties, for goodness sake, the same as me. Shouldn’t he be over puberty by now?

“Look, Bobby, I’m real sorry that I forgot about our plans when I agreed to tutor Andy, but you have to admit that he needs it. The kid’s about to fail American History!” I want to roll my eyes, but instead I try to paste on my most sincere smile. It works sometimes.

This isn’t one of those times.

“Is it so much to ask that you remember you have a boyfriend sometimes, Rogue?” His blue eyes, usually my favorite feature, glare down at me.

His selfishness is so frustrating. We’re low on teachers right now, with Kurt, Erik, and Raven out on a longer assignment. Not that it’s a loss not to have Raven around. My adoptive mama can be such a drama queen sometimes. She won’t quit complaining that Bobby doesn’t treat me right. As if she’s done much for me over the years, no matter how much she’s trying to make up for it now.

Still, Kurt’s one of the other history teachers, which leaves me and Logan to pick up the slack. We’ve been teaching every period instead of having a couple off. I took Kurt’s small geography class in addition to my American history and anthropology classes, while Logan added Kurt’s usual world history classes to his specialties of military history and physical education. On top of that, we’ve been tutoring all the kids who need help. Thankfully there aren’t too many, but Andy’s a handful and can’t seem to pay attention unless we’re doing one-on-one study time, and since he’s in my classes, helping him as he struggles to memorize dates and names falls to me. Every little thing will distract that boy, maybe because his mutation is incredibly heightened sight and hearing. He’s just not used to them yet. Logan’s working with him on that, another reason he’s in my class since he has to pull out every ounce of patience he has during their daily sessions. Meanwhile, the rest of us just try to give the boy extra time and help to get assignments complete.

Speaking of distracted, I pull my attention back to Bobby’s rant. He’s harping on how much I’ve been ignoring him lately. To be honest, whenever we’re around each other we just seem to fight, so yeah, I’ve been avoiding him. It looks like this is another time to cut private time short.

I look at the alarm clock next to my bed and allow myself to look shocked. “We only have a few minutes until classes start. Can we finish this later, honey?”

Bobby gives me a wounded pout, but I just smile at him gently. He takes so much attention to keep happy. It’s exhausting me, I swear.

“Fine, but we will talk about this later,” he mutters. He goes to stand outside my door while I slip on my gloves. I can control my powers most days, but it’s best not to test that around the children. No need for them to be scared of Miss Rogue. Trying to deal with emerging mutations is frightening enough.

Bobby glances down the hall as I approach him, and then suddenly he looks back at me and smiles like I’m his favorite thing in the world. I wonder who he’s putting on a show for now, and then I feel ashamed of myself. Why do I always assume that his attentions are less than genuine?

Of course, I peek out in the same direction as I step up to Bobby and take his extended hands in mine, prepared to play my part. It’s just Logan, though, so I smile at him, a true smile this time for one of my best friends. Bobby pulls my hand and brings my attention back to him. We walk down the hall, but just as we’re about to turn the corner I look over my shoulder at Logan once more.

Something is wrong. I don’t know what it is, but I’ll make sure to find him later and pester him until he tells me. He will, I know it. I just can’t think of anything that would cause him to look so confused. It’s not a familiar expression on his admittedly handsome face. Logan has many good qualities, but his humility is practically non-existent. He thinks he knows everything. Unfortunately, he’s usually right. It would be infuriating if I didn’t care for him so much.

The walk to my classroom is quiet between the two of us, although the students more than make up for it as they run through the halls, trying their best not to be late. It’s so nice to see them caring about that instead of worrying about how they’ll be treated. Some of them come here so broken, like I was, but right now we only have happy, mostly adjusted kids to deal with.

“Let’s at least try to meet for dinner, okay?” Bobby asks me as we stop by the door to the history classroom.

I bite back a sigh and instead paste another smile on. “Sure, sounds great!” I try to say as enthusiastically as possible. Maybe it’s a bit much because he gives me a strange look before wandering in the direction of the science lab where he teaches chemistry for the first few periods of the day.

There must be something in the air today, because my students are all antsy little things. I try to keep the older ones occupied by tying the history of the Golden Age of humanity with off the wall facts from the early twentieth century, like the fact that the first Christmas tree lights were invented more than two decades after electricity was first successfully harnessed, or that Hollywood was built just two decades later. They seem to appreciate my efforts and have some interesting debates on whether movie-making would have been as successful as it has been if the development of lighting hadn’t allowed for such unusual dramatic effects in the early decades of Hollywood. The younger students are more difficult, all seeming to find a dozen other things to ask questions about other than the early development of the Egyptians. I begin to remember why I usually leave the younger students to my foster brother. Kurt has much more patience than I do.

The lunch bell finally rings, signaling all the kids to erupt in cheers. I don’t think the lesson was that bad, but I admit to being relieved that it’s over, too. I dismiss my students and gather up their tablets, storing them away in the special cabinet where we keep the textbooks. I enjoy the few minutes of quiet, barring the sounds of rushing feet and shouts outside the classroom door, before I head out myself to the communal dining room. It’s my turn to be a lunch monitor, and my usual partner is waiting by the door looking a little lost.

“Tell me why they have the two of us doing this again?” Logan grumbles.

“Because we managed to get out of lunch monitor duty the last two weeks with assignments, sugar. C’mon, or the kids won’t leave us any food.” I nudge him with my shoulder, as always, and he gives me another of those looks that makes me wonder what’s going on with him. It’s not his normal sarcastic raised eyebrow or long-suffering frown. I can’t interpret it.

Logan is quiet as we make up plates from the buffet. He keeps looking around the room like he thinks it’s going to disappear. There’s a sort of desperate hope in his eyes that I don’t understand. I haven’t seen that look in ages, not since…well, not since he thought maybe Jean might be willing to leave Scott for him. I hope that’s not the direction he’s going again. That mess took years and way too much alcohol to clean up, I swear. In fact, trying to help him nurse his broken heart was what cemented our friendship outside of the mentor to student roles in the first place.

I lead the way to our table, the one off to the side where we can keep an eye on most of the room without reminding the kids too much that they’re being watched over. All the teachers agree that it’s best to keep the lunch hour casual, since ours isn’t exactly a normal school anyway. To my surprise, Logan takes the seat I normally do, facings more toward the wall than the room, leaving me to sit across from him. I guess it’s my turn to keep an eye on the kids. He must have a lot on his mind or something.

We eat the first few bites of our barbecue chicken and rice in silence. He doesn’t meet my eyes, instead keeping his gaze almost exclusively on his food. I decide to try and figure out what’s been going on with him today, here where we’re at least partially private.

“Okay, sugar, spill. What’s up?” I goad him, trying out a winning smile.

Logan looks up, and I can tell he’s truly startled. “What do you mean?”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve had this weird look in your eye all day. Did something happen last night after I went to bed? I mean, I know the game wasn’t all that great, but you didn’t seem too upset by it.” The teasing doesn’t work. Instead, he looks confused.

“Uh, no, nothing happened last night. It’s just…don’t worry about it, okay?” He tries to brush me off. He must have forgotten how persistent I can be.

“Oh, no. I’m not letting you turn into Mr. Brooding. You have classes this afternoon, and there’s no way I’m doing that to your students,” I tell him, putting down my fork and leaning forward. “What is going on with you today, Logan? It’s almost like you’re in a different place entirely.”

He snorts a laugh, to my surprise, and then shakes his head. “Nothin’ like that. I just have some things to think about. Can we drop it?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “For now, because I’m really hungry, we will drop it. But don’t think that you’re getting off this easily, mister. You know I have ways of making you talk.” I lift my fork and wave it at him, earning another reluctant laugh.

“Yeah, I guess.” He pauses to take a bite. “Everything okay with you and Bobby? You seemed a little—tense this morning.”

It’s my turn to get grilled, I guess. “It’s just one of those mornings. He’s not happy that I’m having to spend so much extra time teaching with Kurt off taking care of things in St Louis.”

“Well, history’s a pretty important topic. We can’t exactly let the kids skip out on it because one of the teachers is gone.”

I wave my fork. “That’s what I’ve tried to tell him. It’s like he expects me to be at his beck and call unless he’s busy—which is a stupid and outdated idea, but getting him to change is like a human beating her head against a brick wall. It doesn’t have any effect, and it’s hurting me,” I murmur.

Logan reaches over and takes my hand. He’s not the touchy-feely type, but apparently he senses my distress. “Why stay with him if he makes you so unhappy?”

I shake my head and blink back tears. “You’ve asked me that before, and the answer’s still the same. I’m not going to give up the one guy who doesn’t seem to care about my skin. You know that.”

“But your control—“

“Isn’t perfect. It isn’t even constant. I have to renew it every day. How can I ask anyone to risk that who isn’t interested enough to try in the first place? It’s easier to stay with what I know.”

Logan looks at me, really looks me in the eye, for the first time since lunch started. “Maybe easy isn’t everything you’re making it out to be.”

I take a shaky breath. “Probably not. But it’s my choice right now.” I bow my head over my food and concentrate on filling my stomach. We don’t talk anymore until the warning bell for the end of lunch sounds. He silently takes my plate and walks away. I can’t tell if he’s disappointed in me or distracted by his own issues again, and frankly I don’t have time to wonder about it too much. There are three more periods left of the day before I have to tutor for another two hours. I need to keep my head in the game and do my job, not worry about my friend or my boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to rush things here. How am I doing? Are you intrigued by the differences? I promise there is more to come.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time the school day and my tutoring session are over, I’m drained. I know Bobby wants to have dinner with me, and I know I even sort of promised him that we would, but right now I just can’t handle his drama and, I can admit to myself, his selfishness. So when the door to my classroom shuts behind Andy, I simply sit and stare at it. The late afternoon sunshine streaming through the window behind me dapples the dark wood, casting the black grain into stark relief. I allow my eyes to follow the natural patterns even as my fingers automatically shut down my tablet and set it to the side. A small-town girl at heart, that simple wood door beckons to me, suggesting a refuge from my worries and stress. Almost without deciding, I am on my feet and grabbing the dark green sweater draped across the back of my chair. I shrug into it, not bothering with the buttons, and slip on the pair of black leather gloves lying on my desk.

The hallway of classrooms is quiet as I pop my head out. I must have been the only one doing after-hours work, which is unusual. I’m half afraid that Bobby will be waiting for me, but I don’t see him anywhere. Relieved, I stride a few doors past my own and turn a sharp left. My salvation is in sight, the thick heavy door leading to the back of the school property.

I steal outside without seeing anyone, and I fill my lungs with the sweet fresh air as the door closes with a thud behind me. The tang of fallen leaves mixes with an undertone of moist earth thanks to a rain shower earlier in the day, but the sun warms the air enough to take away most of the chill I expected to encounter. Fall is my favorite time of year. The season in New York is so different from the muggy climate where I spent most of my childhood years, where even the bite of winter is a gentle nip and the heat drags on months longer than any sane person should want it to.

Standing on this small back patio isn’t quite enough, so I head down the stone steps and across the narrow expanse of grass to the trees a few yards ahead. There are trails through the woods, but I’m in the mood to forge my own path. My sneakers crunch through dry leaves under the layer of damp fresh red and orange, and I allow the small sounds of nature, birds calling to each other and the rustle of chipmunks, squirrels, and rabbits, to ease my frazzled nerves. Even the distant laughing and shouting of children, growing faint as I move farther away, soothes me. Although after a day spent around them, I’m glad for the peaceful solitude the trees offer.

After ten minutes or so of wandering, I realize that I’m close to the tiny lake the Professor cultivates on the property. It’s a much-loved spot for all of us, although too secluded at this time of the year for the preference of most of the students wanting to wind down. I enjoy coming here to brood, personally, so I take the chance that it will be deserted at this time of day and head in that direction. Soon I hear the gentle lap of water along the rocky shore, but I hesitate before breaking through the cover of leaves and branches in front of me.

A figure stands with his back to me, hands in his pockets as he stares out at the sunlit water. I recognize Logan immediately, and my first impulse is to go to him. Something has been eating at him all day, and from the set of his shoulders the tranquility of the lake isn’t helping at all. However, I’m not sure he’ll welcome my intrusion, so I take a step back.

“Don’t go.” He’s gruff, as always, but that never bothers me.

I should have known he would pick up on my approach, of course. A warm glow fills me that he’s asking for my company, even if he didn’t say as much. I was worried earlier when he wouldn’t talk to me about whatever is wrong.

I say as much as I step up next to him, my own gaze on the water a few feet away and my arms folded in front of me. “I thought maybe you still weren’t ready to talk. You gonna spill, sugar?” I turn to face him, giving him a perfect imitation of his trademark raised eyebrow.

He sighs, not exactly the reaction I’m hoping for, but I guess he finally decides to open up. What he says startles me.

“I don’t belong here.”

My chest clenches, and I automatically reach out and put a hand on his arm, turning him a little so that I can see his face. “What are you talking about?!” It comes out a little more high-pitched than I intend. What crazy idea is in this man’s head now?

Logan shakes his head, and I can see the frustration in his eyes transfer to that small movement. “That came out wrong. Sorry.” He stops and takes a deep breath. “You know about the way Kitty’s powers have developed, right?”

I slowly nod. “Yeah.” In the past few years my friend has learned how to move through more than matter—she can move through _time_. Or rather, she moves the minds of others backwards a little. We’ve used it to get out of some tight spots, according to those affected, although the rest of us never remember the exact circumstances. She doesn’t use her abilities that way often, thank goodness, and I hope I never have to be the one going backwards.

Backwards…My eyes widen as I take in Logan’s haunted expression. He’s much worse than the others, but I can see the signs now. I know it was no small skirmish he was sent back to help us avoid, since he’s always vowed that nothing will get him to let Kitty try out her mind tricks on him. My hand slides down his arm to grasp his wrist, and I drag him over to one of the wooden benches placed around the lakeshore. He grimaces but allows it, like I know he will. Whatever has happened, he’s still Logan, although it’s obviously unsettling him.

Once we are sitting I turn towards him and ask, “How far back did she have to send you? What happened?”

He runs a hand over his face and then up through his hair. I suddenly realize there’s some grey in it and wonder when that happened.

“Too far back, but far enough, too,” he answers me, not making any sense.

I have no idea what that means, and I shoot him a look that says that. He chuckles a little when he catches it.

“I get it. I’m just having a hard time explaining everything. It was easier with the Professor because he was there,” he mutters, and now I’m even more confused.

“Wait, Kitty sent you both back? I thought she could only send one person at a time.”

He shakes his head. “She just sent me, but I had to help Charles, which meant I had to tell him what was going on.”

He must see the confusion I feel because he quirks one of those little smiles that would be anyone else laughing. “Why don’t I start at the beginning?”

“That would help.” I allow the sarcasm to drip, nice and heavy, and earn myself a wider smile. Then it dies, and he’s staring back out across the water.

“Before I woke up this morning, I was back in 1973. And before that, I was in hell.”

I startle a little at the stark pain in his voice. He reaches over and grips my hand, whether to reassure him or me I don’t know.

  1. The farthest back Kitty has ever sent anyone was weeks, and Scott was haggard as hell when he “came back” to himself. I begin to understand, or at least I think I do. What could have happened that he needed to go back so far?



“The world I’m from…the _futur_ e I’m from, was worse than I could ever describe. Mutants were tracked down and killed by the thousands, and humans too. Only a few of us were left towards the end.”

I can barely absorb what he’s telling me. I’m unable to picture the sheer scope, and I’m sure he’s holding out on me. It is more than I can grasp, and I blurt out the first coherent thought I have. “What the hell caused all of that?”

Logan raises a brow at me. “You’re a history teacher. You’ve heard of the Sentinels, right?”

I slowly nod. “The original X-Men got rid of most of ‘em, but one crops up every now and then. They were created by a man named Bolivar Trask. He’s a nasty piece of work.” I wrinkle my nose at the memory of speeches he’s given throughout my life, hate-filled monologues urging humans to fear and protect themselves from mutants.

“And you know that there was an assassination attempt on him in 1973?”

I go still but then force myself to nod. This is hitting pretty close to home.

“Well, in the timeline I remember, the mutant who tried to assassinate him was successful but was captured before she could get away. Trask became a martyr, and his followers experimented with the DNA of that captured mutant and others to come up with Sentinels that were almost invincible. Governments ordered them by the dozens but kept them in reserve because public opinion on mutants kept shifting.”

I listen in horror as he continues.

“Professor Xavier and his X-Men, his school, existed in that timeline, too, but things were even more chaotic. Several of the teachers were…killed on missions. Students were kidnapped. Just a lot of bad shit happened. Then an American pharmaceutical company came out with a ‘cure’ for mutants, and a lot of mutants took it—some willingly, some not so much. At the same time there was a lot of unrest between mutant groups, and it scared the humans. Everything settled down for a couple of years, but then the so-called cure began to wear off. Turns out it wasn’t permanent.”

My breath catches, and I’m not sure why. I can only think of the temptation that must have been to my other self. Did she take this “cure”? Did she experience the crushing disappointment of its failure firsthand? Because it would have been disappointing, to think that she—that _I_ —could touch normally again only to have those hopes crushed.

“When the cure failed, humans everywhere panicked, and the governments who purchased the Sentinels saw their chance to use them. It was chaos. We weren’t strong enough to last against so many, and the school was one of the first targets. The American government said they were only rounding up the mutants for everyone’s safety, including ours, but if you ran and were caught the Sentinels slaughtered you.”

“We chose to run anyway, kids in tow. We scattered into small groups, trying to spread the Sentinels too thin, but there were so many and seemed to be more every week. Within a couple years mutants were a dying breed, hunted and captured or killed, tortured and experimented on. Millions of humans with the potential to have mutant children were sterilized or killed, kept in labor camps where their lives became a living hell. And for the humans who tried to help us? It was a death sentence.”

His voice is bleak, as hopeless as the future he paints for me. I wrap my free arm around him, and to my surprise he lets go of my hand and folds me in his strong arms, his nose buried in my hair. We aren’t usually this touchy feely, but I can tell he needs the comfort. Just hearing his story makes my heart hurt. I can’t imagine living that way for years.

He speaks again. “We lost a lot of good people, a lot of friends. I was with Charles and Erik, you and ‘Ro for a lot of it, and Charles was always trying to find a way to stop the Sentinels, to make things better. He was close to figuring something out when we got into another fight and you were killed—or so we thought. We figured out later that they must have captured you instead. The Sentinels were programmed to seek out unusual mutations and bring them to their masters. Once we saw the Sentinels begin to exhibit the ability to absorb the powers of mutants attacking them, we realized what had happened. We hoped that you were still alive, even if that meant you were being experimented on, that they were still trying to figure out how to work your DNA into the Sentinel programming.”

He spits out the word “experimented”, and his arms tighten around me. My face is buried in the cool cotton of his shirt, my eyes closed as horrific images dance in my mind. I feel relief that I never knew that existence.

“We managed to find out where they were holding you through some hefty bribes and maybe one or two threats of bodily harm,” he continues, and I grin a little at his vindictive tone. “Erik and I busted you out, and then the Professor revealed part of his plan. We were going to find the group Kitty was with and convince her to help. It worked, and I was the lucky one to get sent back to 1973 because not only was I apparently alive then, but I was the only one who might survive the trip—so to speak.”

“And you must have succeeded. Bolivar Trask is, unfortunately, still alive and well, and the Sentinels are nowhere near that powerful. He sells them to the occasional militia group, like the Friends of Humanity, but as far as we know there aren’t any governments harboring them,” I point out, giving him a squeeze.

He sighs and then pulls away. My arms feel strangely empty, but I ignore it. I need to focus on Logan right now.

“Yeah, it worked. Only now I’m stuck in a timeline I barely recognize, and everything is all mixed up in my head. I have all my memories from the old timeline, and more from this one crowding in all the time. The Professor says that will keep up until eventually I remember both. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that?”

He looks so lost. I take his hand in mine again. “You deal with it one day at a time, with the help of your friends. That’s what you used to tell me when the minds I absorbed were overwhelming me.”

He looks at me, and I can tell he’s trying to remember. “I did, huh? Sounds like someone smarter than me would have come up with something like that.”

I smack his arm, using a little of my strength, and his eyes widen. I briefly wonder what powers that other Rogue ever borrowed or kept, if any, but I pull my focus back. “You’re plenty smart when you want to be, and it was your advice that saved my sanity that first year. So hush.”

He reaches out and gently tucks a thick strand of white hair behind my ear, careful not to touch skin to skin. “And where was I when you got this?”

I open my mouth to reply, but an angry shout reaches us. I realize it’s my name, and I turn to see Bobby barreling towards us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a mean, horrible, awful person for ending this chapter here. Hopefully you will forgive me when the next is posted some time in the next couple weeks. As I'm working on my original NaNoWriMo novel this month, I won't promise a quick turn around, but I DO have an outline of where this is going, so I should be able to get something down soon.
> 
> To those who wanted this part to be from Logan's perspective: I considered that, but I thought it was interesting to come at it from Rogue's POV. We KNOW what Logan experienced, more or less, from the movie. We have an idea how he must have felt. I wanted to explore how hearing that story would make Rogue feel. I hope I succeeded and made you all appropriately sad. I promise happy feelings soon to make up for it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a long time, and I am so, so very sorry. Real life got in the way. But I hope you enjoy this chapter!

I drop Logan’s hand, stand up, and step forward, preparing to meet Bobby head on. He’s displayed ridiculous possessiveness before, and I’m too emotionally drained from Logan's story to deal with it right now. I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. Logan’s presence behind me bolsters my determination not to put up with Bobby’s nonsense today, so by the time he comes puffing up to us I’m ready to rip into him.

Of course, Bobby starts yelling before he even comes to a stop. “Rogue, I can’t believe you! We were supposed to have dinner together, remember? I waited around for you like an idiot, and now I find you out here with him, holding hands. What the fuck’s going on?”

I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. “One, I never said I was going to eat with you this evening. You made that assumption. I was too exhausted to eat after teaching and tutoring all day, so I came out for some fresh air. Two, when I saw that my best friend was having a bad day, I reached out to him, just like I would expect you to with John or Kitty.” Although we both know Kitty’s not only your friend, don't we? “Three, I’m tired of the accusations and the expectations you put on me to be your idea of perfect. I’m sick of it all. You have no right to treat me like this, and I’m through. Go find someone else who's willing to be your pet. I want a real relationship.”

“What, with him?” Bobby sneers toward Logan, who steps up beside me.

I shrug. “Well, couldn’t be worse than an overgrown boy who can't make up his mind. Go away, Bobby.” I turn back towards the bench. Bobby’s hand flashes out and grips my upper arm, and next to me Logan growls.

“You’d better rethink that one real quick, bub.”

I laugh. “He knows better, Logan. But thanks.” I shake off Bobby’s hand as if he was nothing more than an annoying mosquito that happened to land on my shirt sleeve.

Bobby storms off, although I can feel the heat of his parting glare. It’s amazing how someone whose mutation involves controlling ice has such a hot temper he can’t contain. I’m a little surprised that he didn't attempt a childish trick like ice down my back or something. Instead I’m left alone and basically unharrassed to deal with the repercussions of his little outburst towards Logan.

I can’t even bear to look up at him as I clear my throat. “Sorry about that. Bobby’s always been a little…touchy over how much time I spend with you. He just doesn’t understand.”

Logan sits back down on the bench. “Why don't you explain it to me? We were…pretty close, where I come from, but I knew the reasons then. I don’t now, at least not yet.”

I blush. “Wouldn’t you rather gain the memories slowly?”

“Nah. I’d like to hear your point of view, if that’s okay.”

He sounds so uncertain, and it breaks my heart. It’s been years since I’ve heard that tone in his voice. I sink down on the bench with a sigh.

“Okay, but it’s not a pretty story.” I pause, unsure where to start.

“Just start at the beginning and go from there. It works, promise.”

I take a deep breath. “I was fourteen when my mutation manifested. It was during my first kiss. I put the boy in a coma. I don’t even know if he ever came out of it, although I hope he did. He was just a boy I had a crush on, not someone who deserved what I can do. My parents kicked me out with just the clothes on my back. I hitched my way from Mississippi to New Orleans with a nice lady who didn’t understand why I wouldn’t let her hug me goodbye. I fell in pretty quickly with a gang of runaway mutants, but we weren’t very successful at stealing to eat. We were all close to starvation when she found us.”

“She said her name was Raven, and she was going to help us if we’d let her. The others didn’t trust her and ran off, but I was scared of being on my own and hated it. I’d never known what it was like to be homeless and so hungry before, and I was willing to do anything to get away from that.”

“Raven did everything up legally, became my foster mother and eventually my adoptive mother. She didn’t try to force me to do anything I didn't want to—except chores, normal stuff, and I began to feel safe again. She was a mutant, too, and she was able to help me become less afraid of my abilities. I always thought there was more to her than she was willing to tell me, but she didn’t like to talk about her past, and I could respect that. Just mentioning my parents in passing without breaking down took me almost a decade, and back then I couldn’t even think about them without turning on the waterworks.”

I pause and chance a glance at Logan. He’s staring off into the distance, and I can tell he’s started to connect the dots. “When I was seventeen Mama—that’s what I was calling her by then—said that she had to go visit a friend and left me in New Orleans. It wasn't the first time she’d done that, but this time I didn’t hear from her that night or any time in the following week. I began to get worried, but she hadn’t left any contact information, so all I could do was wait. She’d left enough money for a month of groceries and made sure the rent and utilities were paid up before she left. I found out later that she was helping Charles and Erik with a crisis in France that got out of control.”

“Before Mama got back, I was contacted by someone who said he was her friend. I found out later that he was a con artist who’d crossed her a decade earlier and got the worse end of the deal, so he decided the time was right for a little payback. This guy had gone from petty con artist to part of the mutant slave trade, and he figured Raven’s daughter was a good target to start his revenge, although he wanted to lure her in eventually, too.”

  
“He knocked me out with something in a syringe while my back was turned, and the next thing I knew I woke up in a cell. Sometime in between he must have touched my skin because I had bits of his mind inside mine, so I knew whoever was holding me knew what I could do. Surprise surprise, as soon as I was awake they began experimenting on me. I was tied down, and they brought in animals, humans, and finally mutants to see what they could learn about my mutation. Thankfully my skin doesn’t work on animals, but the human slaves and the mutants they brought in…well, you know how that went. They played around, letting the contact go longer and longer. I killed twice, once a human and once a mutant. That last one was a mistake. They really shouldn’t have put me and Carol Danvers in the same cell, let alone together in the same head.” My lips stretch up in what might have been a smile.

“Carol. That’s—in my timeline, when you were captured by the Sentinels pretty much the same thing happened, and she was the last one they exposed you to before we broke you out. But you were a lot older than seventeen.”

“I’m sure it was easier to deal with, then. Well, maybe. I know that at seventeen I had a hell of a time figuring what way was up right after draining her. That’s where I got this, by the way,” I tell him, flicking the white strands hanging in front of my eye, shielding me from him slightly.

“I wondered. It was Erik’s fault in my timeline.”

I shake my head and let out a little laugh. “Wow. Erik was the one who broke me out of there. He and a small group attacked just after I went after my own guards. We freed the human and mutant slaves, and then Erik offered me a place here. I started to explain about Mama, and that’s when he told me that Mama was badly injured during that mission in France and was in a coma. She'd left instructions with Erik and Charles on where to find me, in case something happened to her, and when they went to pick me up they realized I’d disappeared. That’s when Charles used Cerebro to find me. I just wish it hadn’t taken so long, but they were busy helping the refugees in France first, so…” I shrug because, really, the past couldn’t be changed.

I see Logan’s hands clench, and I can tell he’s barely restraining the urge to pop the claws. It’s touching, since he doesn’t remember that particular version of teenage me. “Why the hell did he break it to you like that? What if she hadn’t survived?”

“What, you want the word for word details? He didn’t sugarcoat it, but it wasn’t that terrible. A shock, sure, but the whole situation was shitty,” I scoff at him. “Besides, if your Erik is anything like the one I know, then you know that sensitive emotional topics aren't exactly his strong suit, at least not when his own emotions are involved.” Logan grunts, probably the only acknowledgement I’ll get for the truth of that, and I take that as my cue to continue.

“You were away when I first came here. I learned later that you were training in Japan, trying to control the more…animalistic side of your mutation. I heard rumors about the great Wolverine,” I shoot him a little grin, “but my first impression of you was less than positive, for both of us. I was going through what the Professor called one of my ‘episodes,’ where Carol was doing her damnedest to take over my mind. Her personality was so strong, you see, that it tended to overwhelm me. So she was in a rage, screaming at everyone and everything around us, throwing furniture, in a full tilt tantrum, while inside my own mind I was trying to tamp her down with the help of Jean and Charles. You walked in right in the middle of the chaos, took one look at what was going on, walked over, and knocked me out with one punch.”

Logan stares at me like I’ve gone crazy. I’m sure that wasn’t what he was expecting. “No, really, it was for the best. While my body was unconscious, we were able to get a better grip on Carol and—lock her away for a while, I guess you might say. Charles and Erik explained my situation while I was out, and then while you caught them up on your training in Japan Charles got his brilliant idea. He wanted you to teach me meditation in the hopes that one day I would be able to control the personalities in my head on my own. You weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea, and when I woke up, neither was I.”

I laugh a little at the memory. “I tried to refuse, and you just sat there glaring. Charles was very calm, of course, explaining that this was the best solution for everyone. They would be able to relax their guard around me, knowing that an ‘episode’ was less likely, I would have more freedom, and you would have the experience of coaching a new student one-on-one, something you hadn't had much opportunity for yet because you were fairly new here yourself. He even dangled the carrot of controlling my mutation in front of me, saying that if I could become in tune with my body I might have more chance of figuring it out.”

“The first sessions were a disaster. I didn’t want to do anything you said, typical teenage angst, and you were still trying to learn to keep your temper in check—and failing miserably, in my case. After the third time I stormed out of our sessions early, you followed me and gave me a good chewing out, all about how I wasn’t a little kid anymore and needed to learn to act like an adult, and how was I supposed to gain control of my mutation if I couldn't even control my fucking breathing? The whole mansion heard us, and then we were called into the Professor’s office, first one at a time, then together.”

“If your individual meeting with him was anything like mine, then you got the ‘I’m very disappointed in you’ speech. Once he had us both together, he let us know on no uncertain terms that the meditation sessions would continue. I tried harder after that, if only so that eventually I’d be able to stop and wouldn't have to see you as much. Things were pretty tense between us for a long time, and we couldn't even stand being in the same room together if we weren't forced into it.”

“Mama woke up from her coma about that time, and I was so busy helping her with her rehabilitation that I guess I was distracted from my resentment of you. The meditation sessions were just one more part of my day, insignificant in comparison to everything else I had on my plate. However, once she was feeling better, I noticed that she was putting a lot of distance between herself and the rest of us. I didn’t know how to handle that, so when she up and disappeared on another mission a few months after, the meditation was about the only thing I had to hold on to. I threw myself into it, which really surprised you. I guess you expected a breakdown from me when she left.”

He chuckles. “I probably did. Sounds like you were a firecracker.”

“Well, not long after, at the end of one of our sessions, I tripped on the way out the door. You caught my arm to keep me from falling—above my glove. It wasn’t much, but it was skin-to-skin contact, and I wasn’t draining you. I did lose it then, hugging you, running down the hall screaming the Professor’s name, dancing around and grinning like an idiot. Thankfully this was in the middle of the day on the weekend, but I must have looked insane.”

“Nah. You were just happy.”

I glance over to see him smiling at me, a light of recognition in his eyes. “So you remember that?”

“It’s coming back to me. I don't remember all the details, but I do remember the hug.”

I blush and shrug. “We got along better after that. I think it gave you a feeling of accomplishment, that something you did helped me control my mutation. I was ecstatic, until I realized that it didn’t last more than a minute or so after the meditation sessions. When I started to slump into a depression, you pulled me out. You said that as your star student, I couldn’t let a little set back get me down. We’d concentrate more on the physical sensations during meditation, figure out what might be going on and how I was controlling it, and then I would be able to go longer. That was ten years ago, and I can control my mutation for as long as sixteen hours at a time now. It was slow going, but I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“It sounds like we spend a lot of time together, though. It’s not just about training you anymore, I guess?” He makes it sound like a question. I feel horrible for him, to be so unsure of even such simple things as friendships.

“Course not, silly. You're my best friend around here. If I didn't have you…well, I don’t know what I’d do, but I don’t think it would be pretty.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “You’re always there for me, and same here. At least, I like to think you know I’m always here for you.”

This is starting to get embarrassing. We don’t usually say this sort of thing out loud, for goodness sake. Our friendship just exists, so natural now that the memories of those days when I was sure I would always hate him seem like they belong to someone else, as if I pulled them from another mind with my mutation.

“I do know that,” Logan says, all gruff the way he can be when he’s getting embarrassed, too. “Seems like that’s the case no matter what reality I’m in.”

I nod and decide to lighten the subject, if I can. “Good. I’m glad to know I’m not an idiot in at least one other timeline,” I tease him. “Now, why don't we go grab some food from the kitchen? I’m sure there are some leftovers in the fridge, and I can fill you in on some of the other differences around here. If you want me to, that is.”

He stands up and shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. “How can I refuse a personal tour guide to my new timeline? Especially one who teaches history?” He seems more relaxed, and I’m so glad that I jump up and grab his hand, pulling him along behind me.

“Let’s go, then!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so what do you think of Rogue's alternate history here?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's been a while, so I'll thrown in a disclaimer that I own exactly zero of these characters, although personally I think this plot does more justice to my faves than the movie, even Rogue Cut, managed!
> 
> Quick recap: At the beginning of our story, we're in the DoFP future where Rogue is held captive by the baddies. Logan and Erik break her out, and then the Professor weaves his magic to draw everyone into his plan to change the past. Rogue's presence is much more organic in this part than the Rogue Cut of the movie. In the lead-up to his trip to the past, Logan finds the nerve to confess his feelings for Rogue-seriously, dude, it took you that long?! And of course, Rogue returns his feelings. After Logan does his thing, we're with Rogue in the "new" future, where she's dealing with her annoying boyfriend, Bobby, and trying to figure out what's up with her best friend, Logan. She manages to get Logan to tell her that he was sent to the past by Kitty and offers to help him "remember" his new life. Bobby gets jealous, they break up, and Rogue tells Logan a short-ish version of her life so far because he's curious.
> 
> Oh, and I had to go back and make some changes to chapters 4, 5, and 6 because I was rewatching the Rogue Cut in order to get back into the mindset for this story and realized that Logan's a history teacher in this future, which I totally forgot to add. So if you go back and read those chapters, you'll see some minor adjustments.

The next morning is Saturday, which means no classes. I wake up and stare at the ceiling. Today I’m going to take Logan into town, let him see where everything is with his own eyes. He told me yesterday that Winchester was destroyed years ago in his old timeline, so things have probably changed a little from what he remembers.

However, we didn’t plan a definite time to head out, although he mentioned “early,” so I have absolutely no reason to get out of bed. Instead, I burrow deeper into the blankets and let my mind examine the events of the previous day. By the point I went to bed last night I was too tired to give it much thought, but now I have a while to wallow.

I know that severing the pitiful remains of my relationship with Bobby was for the best. I feel absolutely no regret over that. I do wonder, though, if I couldn’t have found a kinder way to do it. Sure, he annoys me at every turn these days, but Bobby isn’t a horrible person. However, I also know if I try to sugarcoat things today, he’ll assume I want him back. Since that isn’t the case at all, I’ll probably have to employ some of those reconnaissance skills Logan loves to drill into our heads. Avoiding my temperamental ex-boyfriend seems like the best option out of a short list, given that we live and work in the same school. Maybe Logan will be willing to help run a little interference, too.

Logan.

Now that I’m alone, staring up at the smooth white ceiling, I can admit to myself that I’m frightened. I don’t know if I will really be able to help him, and there was this look I would catch in his eyes sometimes yesterday that makes me think he’s expecting more from me than I’m sure I can give him in this reality. He has been my anchor for so long, but he has this whole other past that he’ll have to reconcile. It looks like now I’ll have to be his anchor. Only I’m not sure if that won’t turn into something a lot more, or what either of us will do if it does.

The cryptic thoughts circling through my mind are driving me crazy, so I toss the blankets off and hop out of bed. I’ve never been one to sleep in much anyway, so it was ridiculous to think I would start now. There is just too much to do, and the activity should prove enough to distract me from the direction my thoughts have turned.

A hasty shower is followed by throwing my hair up into a ponytail still wet and braiding the tail. I rarely try anything fancy on the weekends these days unless I have a date planned, and today doesn’t really count—right? A pair of jeans, a short-sleeved green shirt of thin cotton, and a white sweater are easy to choose, but my hands hesitate over the gloves I know I’ll need as a “just in case”. I wish that I could leave them behind, but finally I snatch a dark green satin pair and stuff them into my back pocket. Finally, I sit on the fluffy green rug beside my bed, legs crossed, and breathe deeply, concentrating on my power.

My mutation sizzles inside, like the kind of static you get when a radio station isn’t tuned correctly and the volume was turned up too high on the last channel you were listening to. It takes a few minutes to force the sizzle to a dull buzz. Over the years I’ve learned how each manifestation of my power “sounds”. There are actually four levels. There’s full power, where I’ll drain anything sentient if I touch its skin with my own. There’s medium power, where I’ll just pull thoughts and sometimes powers, if they’re very strong. Then there’s low power, which is the “setting” I’ve chosen for today. Low power means that my mutation doesn’t kick in for a good few minutes, rendering me relatively harmless to those around me. The final level, off, is what I thought I wanted to strive for when I was first learning control, but since then I’ve found that I like having the option to protect myself with my powers if I need to. Only this initial change from full power requires the meditation these days, thank goodness. Any other switch just needs a little concentration.

Now I’m ready to go, so I head out of my room. I hesitate only a moment before heading to Logan’s door down the hall and giving a soft knock. He can be a little grouchy in the morning, but usually I can sweet talk him into forgiving me fairly quickly. Today I have the added benefit of the early start being his idea.

The door swings open just seconds after my knock. Logan stands there in just a pair of jeans, his hair still damp from the shower. I force my eyes to lift from the intriguing sight of his bare chest, muscles rippling under skin and a dusting of dark hair. Logan’s eyebrow is raised, and I blush when I realize that he caught me staring.

“Almost ready, sugar?” I try to brazen through the moment even with red cheeks.

“Sure, just let me grab a shirt. Unless you’d rather I didn’t,” he shoots over his shoulder as he turns back into the room.

I want to ask him not to, please, but I manage to just let out a weak laugh instead. When he returns, sadly that beautiful chest is covered by a dark blue t-shirt, his leather jacket tossed over one shoulder. I almost sigh out loud and smile to cover up my reaction. “So, how are you this morning? Remember anything new?”

He shrugs as we start walking down the hall. “When I woke up, I wasn’t as disoriented as yesterday, but no true memories or anything.”

I flash him a smile. “That’s progress! With such a long jump, you need to give it time.”

He makes a grumpy sound, the sort I’m used to from him. “So everyone keeps saying.”

“Well, hopefully today will help loosen up some of those memories. Where to first?”

There’s a strange wistfulness in his eyes. “Is the Star Diner still around in this timeline?”

I grin. “It sure is. We go eat there after late-night missions sometimes.”

“We—uh, we all did, too, before the Sentinels came. They wrecked a lot of stuff. In that timeline, mutants owned it. I missed that place.” He runs a hand through his hair, sending it standing on end as usual.

With a nod, I grab his hand and pull him along. “Well, come on! When you get your memories back this won’t be fun since we were just there a week ago.”

To my surprise, Logan lets me drive. Usually he demands to be the one in control of an outing, but somehow I convince him that it’ll be better if he just relaxes and tries to absorb any memories that come. I think he gives in so easily because of the haunted look in his eyes and the doubtful glare he gave the driver’s side as we approached the car. I shiver inside, wondering how long it’s been since he had a chance to drive a normal car, anyway.

The drive to the Star Diner is short, but the small parking lot is as packed as ever. We spend half an hour looking for street parking. I point out familiar buildings as we drive by, using every opportunity to try and jog pieces of memory loose for him. I don’t know how successful I am, since he’s reverted to grunts instead of words, a sure sign that he’s feeling uncomfortable. Part of me wants to lay off of him, give him room to breathe, but this is what he said he wanted. Someone to help him remember. And I am nothing if not thorough when it comes to his well-being.

Finally, a spot opens up, and I slip in before the car approaching with its blinker on can maneuver in. Normally I wouldn’t be so aggressive, and Logan raises an eyebrow at me. I shrug my shoulders and offer him a small smile.

“If I don’t get some food in me soon, my stomach’s gonna stick to my spine. You can’t tell me you aren’t hungry, either, sugar. I can hear it!” I chuckle when his stomach growls, echoing my own. The corners of his lips tilt up, and I know I’m forgiven my impulsiveness.

Since the space we parked in is just a few minutes away from the diner on foot, I quiet down, allowing him to look around on his own as we walk. This gives me the opportunity to study him. There are new lines around his eyes and mouth, ones I never thought I’d see. When did those appear? A part of me freezes as I realize that while Logan seems ageless, that isn’t strictly true. I know enough about his healing to know that there are some things it can’t totally fix. Even his cells have to die off eventually, although at a much slower rate. Those wrinkles, small as they are, tell me that I haven’t been paying as much attention as I should to my friend, though, whether they’re the product of his recent travels through time or if they’ve been developing all along. As he pulls open the door to the diner and gestures me to go in, I give myself a mental shake and renew my vow to help him.

“What’s good?” he asks as he plucks a menu from the stand next to the door while we wait on a table.

“Don’t you remember?”

“Well, it’s been a while, and this isn’t exactly my Star Diner,” he says quietly, giving me a look that says I should have figured that out myself.

I snort. “Yes, it is. That’s the point of helping your remember who you are in this timeline,” I answer in the same tone.

Again a tiny smile shines in his eyes. “I forgot how much you like to talk back.”

I push down the reaction I automatically feel to that statement. It’s yet another reminder that, as far as his current memories are concerned, he’s spent the last few years in hell. Maybe decades. I can’t imagine a scenario where I wouldn’t be my normal snarky self. If life was so horrible that I lost that part of me, I’m glad that timeline has been obliterated.

“Well, get used to it again,” I warn him, jabbing a finger into his chest. This startles a chuckle out of him, and I am surprised at the glow I feel hearing it.

A waitress comes to lead us to a booth in the back, one that’s very familiar to me—and hopefully to him. We sit across from each other and try to pay attention to the menu for a few seconds.

“The Southwestern Skillet,” I speak up abruptly. When he raises startled eyes to mine, I try for nonchalant. “That’s what you almost always order. You say that nothing else is worth a damn here, although I’ve seen you swipe one of my blueberry muffins when you think I’m not looking.” I glare playfully at him.

He hums and nods, his eyes dropping back to the menu. “Yeah, I was thinking that sounded good. Everything else does look less than appetizing.”

I suppress a giggle as the waitress comes back to take our order. Unsurprisingly, her eyes hardly leave him even when I’m reciting off my usual, two blueberry muffins with a side of scrambled eggs and bacon. A small part of me, one I don’t want to acknowledge, is thrilled that he barely glances at her as he orders. Instead, he looks at me, uncertainty in his eyes.

“I don’t remember them having a Southwestern Skillet,” he admits when she leaves. His voice is so low that I can barely catch the words.

I shrug. “Of all the things that have changed for you, you’re worrying about a menu option you don’t remember?” I try to play it off, although my heart goes out to him. Still, I know that he’ll reject to much sympathy. It’s one of the reasons I offered to help him in the first place. Of everyone who knows his current circumstances, I’m one of the few who won’t coddle him. And I doubt he’d welcome Scott’s help.

The doubt drains from his eyes and the light returns, which makes me feel like I’m on the right track. “True, darlin’.” That’s all he says out loud, but his eyes shout, “Thank you.”

I start as the waitress brings our drinks, orange juice for me and coffee for him. She gives him another smile, which he ignores again, and then minces away in a huff. I strip the paper from my straw and take a long sip of juice to gather my thoughts.

“So, History 101 for my fellow history teacher,” I say, continuing our theme from the previous evening, although for that we focused more on the small minutiae of his current life rather than the past. However, after a few minutes of watching him sip the coffee, I decide it’s time to take the plunge into more serious topics than how many times the local bars have changed ownership or the roads that have been built in the past few years. “Where do I need to start?”

He shrugs, eyes still on the white ceramic mug in front of him. “Last thing I really remember, I was drowning in the Potomac, full of metal rebar and weighing too much to swim. Then I woke up here.”

I whistle. “Well, that’s…yeah. Do you want the short version of the last decades of your life, or the long?”

His intense hazel eyes meet mine. “Short first, then you can add details whenever I have questions.” He sounds more like himself now, assertive and confident. I release the breath I was holding, trying not to make it a sigh he will catch. I already know he’ll be monitoring every physical sign from me to make sure I’m not holding anything back to protect him, so I don’t even try.

“Days after you drowned, Raven infiltrated the military using one of her favorite impersonations, a major in the Army by the name of Stryker. She loved being able to tweak his nose, stealing mutants out from under his fingertips, and she knew that securing you was incredibly important. Everyone on our side knew that if Stryker really got his hands on you, we’d be doomed. He would have made you into the ultimate anti-mutant machine, unstoppable.” For a moment I consider whether or not to elaborate on that, but if I do, it’ll all be out of order. I like chronological order too much to stint him now.

“Once you recovered from your stay in the river,” he arches a sarcastic brow my way, but I ignore it and continue, “the Professor offered you a position at the school. I was never briefed on the specifics, but I do know that you turned him down at the time. Said you didn’t really remember working with him taking on Mystique, and the whole group here was a little too incestuous for your tastes.” I grin at him a little. “Not that you were wrong. So you headed up to Canada. You’ve been able to piece together what happened there over the years and told me some about it, although it all seems a little wild, even given my own story.”

My eyes drop to the scratched red Formica tabletop, my smile fading away. “You were married there, for a little while. Then the real Stryker came after your wife, a woman whose name you never found out later.” I hold up a hand when he draws in a breath for a question. “I’ll get to it. I promise. So you went after them, near as you were able to figure out, and something…happened. Something bad. You never knew if they threatened her to get you to cooperate or if she was already dead, but for some reason you agreed to work with Stryker on an experiment he was performing. They—that’s when they put the adamantium inside you, coating all of your bones.” I clear my throat and chance a look at him, but his own eyes are studying the table now, hidden from me.

“Something went wrong soon after. The facility where they performed the procedure was destroyed, and you went after Stryker. In the process, you found a bunch of mutant kids he was holding captive. One of them was Scott, although he barely remembers you and you didn’t recognize him when you first met. You helped the kids escape, and then there was a confrontation. We’re not entirely certain on the details, since most of this was second-hand, but at some point you were injured in a way that took away your memories. All of them.” I release the last few words in a rush.

His gaze flies to mine. “What? Then how do you know all of this?”

I shrug and continue to rip my straw paper into smaller and smaller pieces. “It bugged you that you couldn’t remember anything about your life. You kept trying to investigate, but Stryker got away and performed some pretty big cover-ups for the whole thing. Years later, you decided to work with the Professor after all in hopes that he could help you remember your past. His psychic invasions to discover the truth were too painful, and eventually you both gave up that avenue. But you stayed on, and then I came along.”

“At first you avoided touching me like everyone else, but you grew careless as we became friends. One night after a slip up, I woke up screaming from a nightmare to find you, Scott, and Jean all standing around me. I took one look at you and started babbling everything I remembered from the dream, which was a lot of what you didn’t remember.” I sigh. “I’ve told you this before, but I’m sorry, for invading your privacy like that. If it hadn’t helped you find some decent chunks of your past, I’d regret it more.”

I meet his wide eyes and wait. Will this help him? Or will it hurt our friendship? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not like he remembers any of it on his own.

Except his hazel eyes warm up as I watch. “I remember that, a little. The nightmare, I mean. You’re not the one who should be apologizing,” he mutters, taking my hand in his.

I give him a tremulous smile. “And I’ve always told you that you shouldn’t, either. What’s done was done. Both of us were overconfident of my control in those early days, and it wasn’t so bad. I’ve seen worse. I’ve felt worse.”

His eyes darken again. “You mean in the lab you were in.”

I nod. “We’ve both been dealt shitty hands in life. I like to think our luck has changed since we’ve been at the school.”

He snorts. “I’ve never been a believer in luck.”

“I know.” I laugh a little at that. “You say it often enough.”

He hasn’t released my hand and we’re staring at each other, but I don’t pull away. This is comfortable, even though the topics we’re covering are difficult. Unfortunately, the waitress chooses that moment to bring us our food, and whatever spell held us together is broken.

I dig into my eggs first, and as I polish off the last bites, I catch him watching me with a smile in his eyes. “What?”

“You’re waiting to eat the muffins last,” he points out.

“Yeeaah.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this.

“That’s one change from the alternate timeline, and I remembered it while you were eating. You always save the sweet stuff for last. You, ah, didn’t used to. Nothing was safe if it had sugar in it.”

My eyes widen and a smile bursts out. “See, I told you that you’d start remembering on your own!”

He nods and keeps shoveling in food. Apparently, the skillet still tastes good to him, which is a relief. I would have felt bad if I steered him wrong.

After a few more minutes of quiet eating, he asks, “So how did I start teaching history?”

I pause. “Hmmm, maybe we should work on the specifics a little differently than the overall background history.” At his confused look, I clarify, “Why don’t I start, and see if you can finish the story?”

He spears a piece of sausage and a potato, brings them to his mouth, and chews thoughtful before nodding. “Sounds like as good a plan as any.”

“Thanks,” I say drily before taking another sip of juice. “Okay, when you first agreed to work with the professor, you were adamant that the only thing you’d teach would be physical education. You didn’t think you were qualified for anything else. Then, about six years ago, Scott, who was teaching military history and tactics back then, went on an assignment where…” I let the rest dangle while I munch on one of my piece of bacon, waiting to see if he’ll pick up the rest.

After a moment, he begins, “He was injured and put into a medically-induced coma. Jean was frantic, and the Professor was worried that he’d have to cancel the history classes since the other teachers already had so many classes. We had fewer then, right?” I nod, encouraging him with my eyes to continue as I pick up the other piece of bacon and bite into it. “So I volunteered since that was a subject I was actually reading up on my own. Plus, I didn’t think it’d be too hard to teach a bunch of kids a subject like history.”

I snort, and he joins me in laughter. “Well, you learned better on that one, anyway!”

He gives me a look I’m totally unfamiliar with, at least from him. The lines of his face have softened, and a light shines in his eyes. “Looks like you were right. It helps, having to think through the memories for myself.”

I beam and blush at the same time. “I’m glad I could help,” I murmur. The look in his eyes causes me to drop my own, and I grab up one of my muffins to distract myself. My stomach clenches a little, I think with excitement, and I try to push down the feeling. He’s just happy to remember things, after all. He’s never liked not being able to remember his own past. That’s all this is.

We continue trading memories for the rest of the meal, and by the time we head back to the car I think he’s starting to remember things on his own. I don’t think he notices it, but he’ll slip in a comment at the right moment, or laugh a little when I’m deliberately vague in a story because he remembers the rest of it. It’ll still be an uphill battle for him, putting the two pasts together into his current time, but I know he’s on the right track now.

He says as much, grabbing my hand to stop me going to the driver’s side of the car. “Thanks, Rogue. This has meant the world to me,” he tells me. We’re standing close, and I can’t help but be aware of his warm body next to me.

I look up at him and offer a warm smile. “I know. That’s why I had to help you, sugar,” I explain. I lick my suddenly dry lips and continue. “You’re too important to me. I couldn’t let you suffer when I could help.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, and I see them darken. But he pulls away, and I think that I must have imagined it. “We gonna head back home?” he’s got that gruff tone again, the one that says he’s suppressing some emotion. I decide not to push it and nod.

“Yeah.”

“Then I get to drive this time, darlin,” he says and snatches the keys out of my hand. He opens the door and sliding in behind the wheel before I can catch my breath, and then we return to normal as I sit in the passenger seat and gripe about how he never lets me drive.

“Do you even know where you want to go next?” I huff.

He shrugs as he backs out of the parking spot. “Not sure, really. I figure I’ll just go wherever the mood takes me, and maybe we’ll see how much I can tell you about the town.”  


I roll my eyes. “Great. I’ve gone from Memory Lane Tour Guide to unimportant sidekick,” I tease, offering a grin so that he knows I don’t mean it. His answering smile tells me he’s going to be okay, even as he starts his own monologue as we drive through the streets of town. Now I know how annoying I must have been earlier!


End file.
